Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 75836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“There’s such a thing as hair color,” I said. “Does that look like natural black to you?”
“Actually, no,” he said. “It’s too black. Almost blue-black.”
“Exactly.” I smiled in her direction. If she was a fan of mine, she’d recognize me, unless this wasn’t her at all.
But it was. She inched toward us hesitantly. I patted the seat at the bar next to me.
She shook her head slightly and then sat down at a table in the corner.
Okay, I got it. She didn’t want to talk at the bar, where someone might overhear us. “Come on,” I said to Roy.
“You sure?”
I nodded. “That’s a woman who has something to hide.” I walked to the table, Roy following me.
I sat down. “Zinnia?”
She nodded hesitantly.
I stuck out my hand. “I’m Riley Wolfe, and this is my brother Roy.”
Her hand was limp in mine, and she didn’t take Roy’s at all.
“What can we do to help you feel more at ease?” I asked. “Would you like a drink?”
She shook her head. “I’m… I’m a fan of yours.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
“I actually did some modeling when I was young, before you came on the scene. I just… You know. Your father…”
“I’m not my father,” I said, “and neither is Roy.”
“I get that. I always wanted to reach out to you on social media or even email, but I couldn’t.”
“We’re here now,” Roy said. “What would you like to say to Riley?”
“Just how much I admire you. Your beauty and your grace.”
“Thank you very much.” I smiled. “How old are you, Zinnia?”
“I’m twenty-nine. And no one calls me anymore. It’s not my legal name anymore. I go by Zee.”
Twenty-nine. The right age. “The letter Z?” I asked.
“No. Z-e-e.”
“All right, Zee,” I said. “I’d be happy to talk to you about modeling, but right now I don’t have the luxury of time. Roy and I need to ask you some questions about our late father.”
“Could you take off your sunglasses?” Roy asked.
“No, I can’t.”
“Surely you can’t wear them when you do your shows,” he said.
“No, I don’t. But I’m heavily made up and it doesn’t matter.”
“What show are you in?” I asked.
“Right now I’m doing Best of Sin City.”
Best of Sin City. Most likely a topless show, which meant—
“She’s obviously not the person I saw,” Roy said. “She’s not blond, and she’d have…”
Zee met his gaze. “Scars? I have them. And I remember you.”
“But how…?” I began.
“Makeup. You’d be amazed what our makeup team can do. Some of the girls I work with have to cover up worse. Lots of bruising and scarring.”
My stomach dropped. “You mean…”
“I mean their men beat the shit out of them. Yeah.”
“And you?”
“No. No one beats the shit out of me. I’ll never be in that situation again.”
I smiled, reached forward, and touched her forearm. “Good for you.”
“It’s a lonely life, but I deal.” Then she met Roy’s gaze once more. “I never thanked you.”
“For what?”
“For saving me. I never would have gotten out of there alive.”
“I wish I could have done more,” he said.
“There were others,” she said. “I saw them…”
“What did you see?” Roy asked.
“Several girls were in cages. They must have been sedated.”
Nausea clawed up my throat. I swallowed it down as best I could. “Roy, I don’t think I can hear this.”
“You can go,” he said. “I’ll get the information.”
I breathed in. Out. In again. “No. I’m staying. I want to be here for you, Zee.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry I can’t do more.”
“How many men were hunting you?” Roy asked.
“I don’t know. It seemed like dozens, but I was so scared.”
“You signed a document,” I said. “About six years ago.”
“Yeah. I was broke. I’d just gotten out of rehab, and I needed money to start over. It took every ounce of strength I had to go to your father. I had to show him…” She choked back a sob. “I had to show him the scars. Tell him I could name him and the one other guy. The priest. He… He paid me off. I should have asked for more than I got, but…I just wanted to erase that part of my life.”
“How did you end up here?” I asked.
“I’m a good dancer—I took ballet and jazz all through childhood—and I needed a place where I’d blend in. Where no one would ever think to look. I changed my name from Zinnia Rehnquist to Zara Jones. That way I could still go by my nickname, Zee.”
“Wouldn’t it have made more sense to go by a totally different name?” Roy asked.
“Roy…” I began.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “He’s right, and I considered it, but I needed something that was mine, you know?”
I nodded. I understood more than she knew. Her past might be horrific, but it was still her past. I felt the same about my own, in the same warped way.